


This... Might Not Help

by Marishna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, I Don't Even Know, Locker Room, M/M, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:25:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marishna/pseuds/Marishna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The great thing about the school day is that it ended.  At which point Coach Finstock was free to do what he wanted (within reason) in his free time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This... Might Not Help

**Author's Note:**

> Written for challenge #4 for keysmashblog’s fix-it-ficlet fest. Except that I don’t think this fic will have fixed anything, ah hahahahahahahahahahahaha.

The great thing about the school day is that it ended. At which point Coach Finstock was free to do what he wanted (within reason) in his free time. 

But that worked better when there weren’t straggler kids hanging around in the locker room, making fools of themselves. They never seemed to understand that the room echoed and he could hear every last whisper, from plots to hook up that night to what sounded suspiciously either about hunting people or killing them, two things he wanted no involvement in.

How else were these kids going to learn?

Anyway.

This particular afternoon when Finstock finally sighed, pushed himself away from his desk and went to check out who was delaying him from his afternoon plans of nothing he probably shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Greenberg? Why the hell are you still here?” Finstock barked, causing the junior to jump.

“Sorry Coach,” Greenberg replied, but he made no attempt to gather his things to leave.

“Well?” 

“I just can’t believe he’s gone!” Greenberg burst out, his bottom lip starting to quiver.

“ _Oh shit,_ ” Finstock muttered under his breath. “Who?”

“ _Kyle_!” Greenberg shouted. “The guy tied to the tree today?”

“Oh, right! Well, it’s sad and a loss and all. He looked like he could’ve been a great runner. Might’ve been good for the team,” Finstock trailed off as he rubbed his chin. Greenberg sniffled pathetically and Finstock rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes. Awful, terrible loss. You should probably go home and remember him and what a great friend he was,” Finstock tried to guide Greenberg towards the door but he didn’t move.

“We weren’t friends. I don’t think he even knew my name,” Greenberg moaned, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. 

“Wish I didn’t,” Finstock replied. “Okay, kid. Enough is enough.”

“Wha’?” Greenberg’s eyes grew wide as the coach dropped to his knees in front of the teen and pushed him up against the locker. Greenberg watched as Finstock made quick work of his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pushing the down enough to pull his cock out.

“Coach?” Greenberg questioned.

“You want this? Want to take your mind off things? Keep quiet and enjoy the ride,” Finstock told him. Greenberg put his hand on the coach’s head and nodded his head in agreement.

The Coach was good at some things - coaching (obviously), economics, rousing speeches, giving head. This was the last of his big know-hows that he was imparting to Greenberg. 

Damn kid better appreciate it.

If he didn’t think Greenberg was untouched before this the way his hips stuttered and stopped in a herky-jerky way would have cemented it for Finstock. He pushed Greenberg’s hips back against the lockers and held them there with his hands as he used his tongue to tease him.

It didn’t take much, granted. And with his knowledge of the male circumcision (thank you, Bilinski!), or lack there-of in Greenberg’s case, he played with the sheath of skin, curling his tongue around the smooth head that emerged under his ministrations.

“C-coach! I’mma... I’m gonna...”

Finstock didn’t even have enough time to pull off and Greenberg was coming down his throat, which wasn’t altogether unpleasant. Greenberg pulling tightly at his hair wasn’t that great, though.

“Jesus, Greenberg, get yourself together,” Finstock admonished as he pulled back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, making sure nothing got anywhere else as the lacrosses player sluggishly put himself away and zipped up. 

“Feel better?” he asked when he stood up, wincing at how his knees creaked when he straightened up. Too old for this shit now.

Greenberg nodded and smiled shyly.  
 “ _Oh shit, _” Finstock muttered under his breath. “What did I start?”__


End file.
